


Intimate Beauty

by ponderinfrustration



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Alcohol, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 15:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15415710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderinfrustration/pseuds/ponderinfrustration
Summary: Afterwards, Erik and the Daroga will blame the wine for their activities. For now, they simply kiss and enjoy themselves.





	Intimate Beauty

The wine has never tasted so heady as it does off Erik’s lips, and Karim sighs into his mouth, slips his tongue inside to deepen that taste that shoots right to his core, that makes his heart race with longing. Erik shifts beneath him, hips rocking upwards, the movement a slight one but enough to make him whimper, enough to make him re-adjust himself, to better align himself.

Erik’s fingers are fumbling at his belt, long, nimble, too uncoordinated in his distraction to do much good and Karim’s hands slip down from his shoulders, grasps those fingers and moves them. He raises himself, has his belt open in a heartbeat. “Take off your shirt,” he murmurs, the words half lost in Erik’s mouth and Erik groans, his hand slipping inside Karim’s trousers, easing out heated flesh.

“You do it,” and the words are almost a growl, Karim tugging, not giving a damn that he is pulling off buttons, he needs to touch Erik, need to touch him now, needs to feel that warm skin against his and he presses himself closer, such warm skin, such beautiful skin, whatever Erik might think of it, whatever he might say, but he doesn’t realise, is blind to his own beauty, and it is so awful, so terrible, that Erik does not realise how beautiful he is that tears prickle Karim’s eyes, slip down his cheeks onto Erik’s, and Erik’s hand stills in its delicate ministrations, every fibre of Karim crying out for him to continue.

“What is it?” Erik’s voice is soft now, faintly hoarse. “Did I—”

“No. No. Carry on. Please, Erik, just carry on.”

“As you wish.” And his hand resumes its work, but does not have to work long because Karim’s breath catches in his throat as he is kissing down Erik’s chin, and his heart falters, hips bucking.

Afterwards, when Erik, too, has been relieved, and they are simply lying, pressed skin-to-skin, in each other’s arms, Karim plants a kiss to Erik’s chest and whispers, “You are the most beautiful man I have ever met.”

“Then you need to meet more men.” The quip comes as he expects it to, but there is a smile behind Erik’s words, a hitch in his breath, and Karim’s heart soars.


End file.
